


Practice Makes Perfect

by Zomb13Cat



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-26
Updated: 2013-07-26
Packaged: 2017-12-21 11:17:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,064
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/899653
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zomb13Cat/pseuds/Zomb13Cat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jared's not a stalker –he's not- he just an appreciative observer.  He's also an artist, albeit not a very good one.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Practice Makes Perfect

**Author's Note:**

> So I was minding my own business on tumblr when [Jess](http://youaremyroadmap.tumblr.com/) mentioned Twink!Jared and one thing led to another.

Jared's not a stalker –he's _not_ \- he just an appreciative observer. He's also an artist, albeit not a very good one. At least that's the excuse he gives himself for why he's constantly hanging at or around the vicinity of one Jensen Ackles; Senior, Varsity shortstop, TA for Mr. Morgan’s English class, and founding member of the all-around high school elite- sketchbook and HB pencil in hand. Jared's not a stalker, he just appreciates beauty. And Ackles is, for lack of better words, extremely beautiful; light golden-brown hair, full berry-toned lips, bottle-green eyes, and a light smittering of cinnamon-colored freckles across the bridge of his nose that Jared can never get to transfer quite right on paper no matter _how_ hard he tries. The guy fits DaVinci's golden ratio for _Christ sakes_ , Jared can't be expected to sit idly by and _not_ be enthralled by him.

 

Besides, Jared's still a sophomore -just _barely_ above dirt in the high school social hierarchy, not really enough to even register a _blip_ on the 'cool kid' radar Ackles and the rest of his lackeys seem to have hardwired within- and it's not like he's actually bothering the guy or hurting anyone, so there's not really anything wrong with some appreciative observation right?

 

He get's to fifth period English 25 minutes early, sets himself up in his usual seat -first file second row, close enough to see in detail but still hidden enough that nothing's too obvious- and pulls out his old sketchbook with it's battered, worn cardboard cover. Mr. Morgan usually leaves his classroom open and unattended at lunch, a classic rock CD playing in a big black 90s boombox, and a _STEAL ANYTHING AND I'LL KNOW_ scrawled menacing and huge and underlined three times on the black board. Chad once asked him why no one actually _tried it_. Probably because Mr. Morgan’s over six feet tall, and built, and rides his Harley to and from work every day, and sure Jared's just as tall -maybe taller- but he's also built like a twig -all lanky and thin- so he'd rather not chance it.

 

Jensen's already there, sitting behind Mr. Morgan’s desk, scuffed doc martens propped up on the desktop, face buried in book, looking absolutely perfect. He's wearing a new pair of black-framed glasses today, marginally thicker than his usual wire-framed ones and Jared hands itch to capture them in contecrayon. He settles on a B pencil, since charcoal is much too messy for the time he's allotted and starts sketching an outline of his subjects face, stealing the every so odd glace towards Jensen from underneath his messy bangs.

 

He draws the slope of Jensen's nose, the out line of his cupid bow, draws Jensen's eyebrows peaking out lighter beneath the black-frames, details the minute lines of his furrowed brow and that barely there dimple in his chin, and then he get's to the freckles. _Ugh_ , those freckles are going to be the death of him. No matter how hard he tries they never come out _right_ , always too many or not enough, too dark or not really there. Jared chances another few glaces towards Jensen, studies and tries to take in his features, tries to commit them to memory.

 

“ _What?”_ Jensen snaps, turning a page but not really looking away from his book. Jared looks around the deserted classroom in confusion. Usually by this time there are a few other stragglers, sitting on top of their desks playing poker, or doodling on each others arms like kindergartners, but today the classroom is empty and it's just him and Jensen. He turns back and Jensen's staring directly _at him_ this time and there's no mistaking he's talking to _Jared._ “ _Every day._ Why do you keep _staring_ at me?”

 

There's no one around to act as a buffer, Mr. Morgan’s not here yet -probably out chatting-up the school nurse, or rescuing stray-kittens, or doing whatever the fuck the man does when Jared's having a crisis and _needs_ him- and Jared just wishes the earth would open up underneath his feet and swallow him whole. “No- I'm not-” Jared bumbles like an idiot, looks away, and places his sketchbook in front of himself like a shield. _Fucking smooth._ He hears the creek of the desk chair sliding out, followed by the heavy clomp of Jensen's boots against the cheap, government, poly-blend carpet, before he feels his sketchbook pulled out of his hands.

 

Jensen flips through a few pages, raises and eyebrow and cocks his head, “These are...” And this is it, Jared's undoing. Jared's a _total_ stalker. And Jensen just found out, and he's going to tell _everybody._ And Jared'll have to move to Nebraska, or Alaska, or Maine and change his name to Pablo just to avoid any more humiliation. “really good.” _Wait what?_

 

“No they're not...” He averts his gaze. “B-better when they're not from memory.” The words tremble out of Jared's mouth and he hopes with all his might Jensen gives his sketchbook back before he stumbles across all the gay porn. _What? It was just anatomy practice!_ Jensen turns a few pages, he jolts visibly and his eyes widen - _fuck_ \- before he turns back to Jared.

 

“Y'askin' me to pose for you?”

 

“What? Nn-” things are just going from bad to worse. Jared's two seconds away from dumping all the contents of his backpack on the floor and shoving it over his head.

 

“'Cause I'd be okay with that.” Jared looks back up in puzzlement, not really sure if he heard correctly or not. Jensen's just staring at him with an inscrutable expression, there's a faint trace of color across his face -not dissimilar to the one he gets 10 minutes into batting practice- and Jared can't tell if he's being serious or if it's just all some big ruse to fuck with a underclassman.

 

_No it's fine. I appreciate the offer. Maybe next time._ All dance on the tip of Jared's tongue before “Okay” stumbles ungracefully out of his mouth.

 

“Awesome” Jensen's grin is blinding and almost predatory and it causes Jared's heart to sink into the pit of his stomach. Mr. Morgan walks in carrying Yorick -his human skull-shaped coffee mug- and eyes them both suspiciously. _And what the hell man, where were you fifteen minutes ago?_ “Meet me at the bleachers after practice.” Jensen closes the sketchbook smoothly and hands it back to Jared just as Mr. Morgan walks behind them and softly kicks at the back of Jensen's heel in what can be taken as a type of admonishment.

 

The rest of the day passes by in a blur. Jared get's confused by the lack of actual mockingbirds in _To Kill a Mockingbird_ , but that might be due to the fact that he can feel Jensen's gaze on him throughout the hour, despite the fact every time Jared looks over Jensen's either reading or grading last week's vocabulary quiz. Mr. Morgan thankfully doesn't notice, or more likely let's him slide, because Jared's pretty sure his face is a shade somewhere in between Carmine and gummy-bear red. 6th period gym is no better. For a moment Jared forgets what game and position he's actually playing, and Chad slams a softball into his gut that _so hard_ that Jared blacks out, the wind knocked out of him. He comes to half a second later doubled over on the ground, crabgrass scratching at his face, a pretty nasty bruise beginning to form next to his bellybutton, and Jared would like to take a moment to point out _false advertising_ because softballs are _not soft_ in anyway shape or form. Coach Beaver tells him to “Shake it off, Son.” and lets him out half an hour early so he can shower and change, and then just stares at him funny when Jared plops down on the closest bench to the diamond’s exit halfway through baseball practice.

 

Jared's 98.67% sure he's insane. And he's all but convinced himself that the best course of action is to get up this second and walk his way home and never speak or think about this day ever again, when Jensen comes waltzing out in his _tight,_ white and blue, baseball uniform, cleats, baseball cap and all, and Jared's brain just ceases to function. He can't even begin to focus anymore, not when Jensen's constantly bending over, and sprinting to second, and rounding to third, and sliding home, and baseball metaphors have _never_ made as much sense to Jared as they do in _this moment._

 

Practice is suddenly over and Jensen's by the dugout picking up his gym-bag, and dusting red clay off of his hands and uniform pants, laughing boomingly at one of Carlson's jokes as Christian Kane pats him on the back. When they all separate and Jensen swings his bag over his shoulder Jared's pretty sure that he's going to just walk off so it's pretty unnerving when he does a sweep around the bleachers, narrows in on _Jared_ and starts walking _towards_ him.

 

“Hey.” Jensen calls out just before downing the contents of his water bottle and Jared tries not to stare -too much- at the bob of his Adams apple with each swallow. “Ready to go?” He smiles. Jensen's sweaty, and dirty, and looks so _fucking_ good that Jared actually has to remind himself how to breathe.

 

Jared's quiet and fiddles with his hands on his lap the whole car ride as Jensen drives them to a small but sparse neighborhood halfway across town. He parks on the street, leaving the driveway and garage free. “I hope mine's okay. I wanna shower and change first.” He says as he pulls the key out of the ignition and slips out the door. Jared nods and follows suit. “You'll have to leave your shoes at the door. Jeff has a rule about no shoes in the house.” Jensen comments off-handed and Jared's never been more glad he's wearing matching socks for once.

 

Inside the house is clean and neatly-furnished. There's an acoustic guitar propped against a black-leather La-Z-Boy, a stack of DVDs on top of dark-enameled coffee table, and a plasma TV hung on the wall. It's a total bachelor pad and Jared feels like he's intruding by simply standing there. Jensen motions for him to follow down a narrow hall to what he assumes is Jensen's bedroom.

 

The room is pretty dark, the outside sunlight, barely filtering through the jade-green curtains. There's huge Jim Morrison poster on one wall and two novelty sombreros on the other. Tucked against the wall is Jensen's twin-sized bed, draped with a worn blue, green, and white quilt. “Make yourself at home.” Jensen drops his stuff on the floor next to the closet door. “I'll be right back.” Jared watches him walk out of the room, listens the the sound of the bathroom door clank shut followed by that of the shower water running, before he finally settles down on the black rolling desk chair, and starts unpacking his supplies, resisting the urge to snoop around in Jensen's sock-drawer.

 

He's five minutes into drawing the bedside lamp when Jensen clears his throat from the door, and comes padding into the room barefoot, toweling his damp hair dry, wearing only a pair of gun-metal gray sweatpants. Jared's eyes widen when he takes him in; strong, lean muscles moving fluidly underneath his skin, a dusting of freckles across his chest and arms. “Shirt on or off?” He asks draping the damp towel over his shoulders.

 

“What?” Words don't seem to make much sense to Jared at the moment, and his brain to mouth filter's busted because he replies “off” before he actually has time to think it over.

 

“How do you want me?” Jensen grins, taking two steps closer to where Jared's sitting.

 

“Bed's fine” His voice cracks on the second syllable and suddenly Jared's throat feels Sahara-dry as Jensen sits down in the middle of the bed, back against the headboard, legs extended and feet crossed at the ankles.

It's a little awkward at first, Jared's never drawn a live model before -unless you count the cactus that his mom keeps by the kitchen window and rarely waters- always having to rely on memory and sneak glances, but as the clock ticks by he finds himself letting lose and finding it easier to capture more details.

 

The sides of his hands are dirty, stained gray with graphite dust, and there's the beginnings of a cramp in his wrist when drops the sketchbook down onto his lap and breathes out in frustration.

 

“What?” Jensen looks at him like he's expecting Jared to start reciting the bill of rights in Russian or something equally ridiculous as Jared starts rubbing at the bridge of his nose to alleviate the tension.

 

“It's your freckles” he finally gives way of explanation “they never come out right. Too much detail and I'm always too far away.”

 

“Come closer then.” Jensen dictates, voice strong and authoritative as if scolding Jared for his lack of foresight.

 

Jared drags the chair so close to Jensen that his knees bump and press against the mattress when he tries to settle down. He can see every little detail with clarity, but there's a different problem now. “The angle's all wrong” He's missing half of Jensen's face and leaning over him every two minutes is going to be a total bitch. “Can I try something?” Jared waits for Jensen to shrug in reply before he tentatively swings a leg over Jensen's and settles his knees on either side of Jensen's hips. The mattress jostles with the movements, dips under their combined weight, and Jared can feel the muscles in his thighs strain with the effort to keep him up. The angle's _perfect_ now and and Jared continues trying to translate Jensen's stupid freckles on paper, constantly alternating his line of sight between his sketchpad and Jensen's face.

 

There's a faintly mischievous smirk that certainly wasn't there before, playing on and changing Jensen's facial expression. Jared breathes out through his nose in annoyance, before he unconsciously reaches up and smooths Jensen's brow with his fingers. He softly runs his middle finger down the bridge of Jensen's nose, traces the outline of his mouth to straighten out and pull down the upturned corners of his lips. Jensen reaches up to brush a stray lock of hair out of Jared's eyes and Jared just freezes, hand still on Jensen's mouth, finally realizing _what_ he's doing.

 

Jensen's eyes are huge and dark and feral as he smiles, runs his velvety tongue, all warm and wet, over the pad of Jared's finger. Jared gasps, tries to pull away, but Jensen's sucking on his finger, and the room feels suddenly two sizes too small, and his head is spinning because he can feel all his blood draining from his brain and rushing towards his dick. The muscles in his legs tremble and ache and are suddenly too weak to keep him up with all that is happening. They give out from under him and Jared lands in Jensen's lap with a pained and startled _oomph_ because suddenly he can feel Jensen's cock -all big and thick and _hard-_ pressing against his ass, despite all the layers of cotton and denim.

 

“ _Fuck_ ” Jensen groans out as he bucks up into Jared and Jared's not sure if he should continue with the ruse of drawing Jensen's portrait or if he should just fling his sketchpad and pencil over his shoulder and hump himself silly on Jensen's lap. The decision is made _for him_ when Jensen reaches around, runs a hand down his lower back, pulls him in _closer._

 

“Oh god.” he breathes out as Jensen nuzzles at his neck and kisses at his Jaw, his hands working their way underneath his T-shirt to run blunt fingernails down his back and flick and pinch at his nipples. “Christ.”

 

“Been watchin' you- Watchin' you watch me.” Jensen mumbles against his skin. Bites and worries at his neck, sucks on Jared's pulse point until it feels aching hot and Jared's sure he's broken the skin. “All year. Never talk to me once.” He tangles a fist in Jared's hair and pulls him into a kiss with bruising force. Jared gasps when he feels Jensen's tongue push past his lips, licking into and over the roof of his mouth. He tastes like pretzel salt and bubble gum and Jared feels half drunk. “Wanted you -fuck- _Want you_ so fucking _bad.”_ He sucks on Jared's bottom lip and Jared's pretty sure he can taste blood.

 

“Okay.” Jared mewls out. His heart jackhammers against his ribcage and his head is spinning.

 

Jensen stops, pulls away and holds him back when Jared tries to follow. “You sure about this?” His stony facial expression at war with the depth of his voice, and the flush on his skin.

 

“Yes” Jared nods in agreement. He's never been more sure of anything in his entire life. Jensen leans up and kisses Jared, and it's a lot more gentle this time, almost unnervingly so.

 

Jensen gropes a palm over Jared's ass, gives it a firm squeeze before he's lifting him up and flipping their positions. Jared wraps his legs around Jensen's waist and let's himself be half-guided half-dragged into place. And then Jensen's yanking Jared's jeans and underwear down his slim hips and pushing up his maroon t-shirt, and _holy shit_ this is actually happening.

 

“-the _fuck?_ ” Jensen stops and Jared almost cries out, because _what's the hold up?_ “who did _this?”_ His brow's furrowed and his jaw twitches and Jared has _no idea_ what he's going on about until it dawns on him, _the bruise._

 

“oh that? Nobody- Softball accident.” His voice comes out in pants. And Jensen really needs to quit with the askin' and get with the sexin' because Jared's not sure how long he'll last at this pace. He gives Jared one long, skeptical look. Jared whines and arches up into him, shamelessly grinds against Jensen's hip in a useless effort to subdue some of the throbbing ache he feels in the pit of his stomach.

 

Jensen grins and reaches down between them. Gives Jared two quick, hard strokes -root to tip. Hand strong, callused, and unfamiliar, and Jared feels overwhelmed- before he's reaching into his nightstand and pulling out a little black packet and tube of lube.

 

“You ever done this before?” He asks, slow and thick as molasses and twice as sweet. Jared shakes his head embarrassed. The truth is he'd never even kissed anyone before today, but he's not about to admit to that, especially not _right now._ “Turn around.” The smugness in Jensen's tone is a little unsettling -if not completely _hot_ \- as he guides Jared by the hip onto his hands and knees. “Easier this way.”

 

Jensen runs a hand slowly down his back, tracing the nobs of his spine with his fingertips, and then he's palming at Jared's ass, spreading his cheeks, _exposing him,_ and Jared's suddenly really glad he's facing away because his face is boiling-hot and he can feel can feel a ripple of shame and lust coursing from through his veins straight to his cock.

 

He's about to let out a petulant whine, when suddenly Jensen _licks him_. “ _fuu-_ ” bubbles out his throat as Jensen runs his tongue in a straight line from the seam of his balls all the way up and around his tight hole. Jared can feel himself clench and relax as Jensen licks and sucks at the skin of his entrance, hands kneading at his ass, thumbs rubbing at the rim and pulling it apart, so he can push the tip of his tongue past the resistance.

 

“-first one to taste you- Taste so fuckin' good- You ever even touched yourself before?” Jensen drones as Jared cries out incoherently in response.

 

Jared digs his fingers into the quilt, bunches the fabric in his fist, as he feel Jensen pull away and hears the _snick_ and _pop_ of a cap. Jensen's breath is hot against his ear, and his fingers are cold as they circle and press lightly at his hole, push against the resistance, slip in and out, first one then two. Jared's so needy and desperate that he pushes back against them with a whimper and Jensen groans “fuck, you're so tight.” as he adds another one.

 

Jensen pulls out his fingers and Jared tries not to bristle at the sudden feeling of emptiness. There's the rustle and _snap_ of a condom and his gut clenches on itself as he feels Jensen's lubed up cock rubbing up and down the crack of his ass. The blunt pressure is unfamiliar and unrelenting and Jared wills his body to relax as Jensen pushes steadily past the first and second rings of muscle. Jared clenches his eyes, tries to think past the stretch and burn he's feeling as Jensen, with one hand on Jared's hip, guides him down slow and steady until Jared can feel him bottom out, hips flush with Jared's ass.

 

“okay?” Jensen kisses behind his ear, bites and sucks at his neck and shoulder, but otherwise doesn't move. Jared nods in agreement as Jensen slowly pulls out and pushes back in, and if _this_ is the whole _sex thing_ everyone's always raving about it's not all it's cracked up to be. Or at least that's what Jared's thinking until the head of Jensen's dick brushes against that _one spot_ inside of Jared that has his whole body jerking at the needle-sharp pleasure, crying out like he's dying. “ _bingo_ ” Jensen chuckles, picking up the pace, rubbing against that spot over and over again.

 

Jensen wraps an arm around his chest possessively, snaps his hips with every thrust and growls into the hair at the nape of his neck. “You like that? Feel good?”

 

“yeah. More. Fuck me. Harder.” tumble out of Jared's mouth without his permission.

 

“So fuckin' hot, Jay.” Jensen wraps a hand around Jared's cock, gives him long, smooth strokes, thumb rubbing over the head and at the slit. He bites at the juncture of Jared's shoulder and neck and Jared just loses it, the sharp pain tipping him over the edge. Jared comes hot and pulsing in Jensen's fist, all over the blue quilt. Jensen milks him through his release, hand rubbing come all over his skin. He gives two more thrusts before he stills and twitches inside of Jared, comes with a “oh fuck, _fuck_ ” grip so hard Jared's pretty sure he's leaving bruises on his hips.

 

They collapse on top of each other in a heaving heap. Jensen pulls and ties the condom off, and uses his sweatpants to wipe Jared and then himself clean.

 

“Well...” Jared starts. He's tired and sated and _this is weird._

 

“yeah.” Jensen huffs, pulls Jared half on top of him and away from the wet spot.

 

“sorry about your bed.” Jensen just laughs at that.

 

They hang out for an hour or so. Jensen's perfectly nice, smiles and drives him home, but it's weird and awkward. Or maybe it's just _Jared_ who's weird and awkward - _Hey, he just went through a surprise-deflowering so cut him some slack-_ he's also sore as fuck _._ He spends all night over thinking things and shifting uncomfortably in his bed.

 

The next day things are even _weirder_. Jared _knows_ this was a one time thing, he gets that. He's not some naïve little school-boy who thought he and Jensen were going to start dating and get married and grow old together just 'cause they fucked once in Jensen's bedroom. But it still stings a little -or a lot- when he walks into English and Jensen doesn't even acknowledge him.

 

Mr. Morgan’s explaining the outline of their next paper, and Jensen's passing back graded papers, and Jared's shifting in his seat, when he notices an extra note in the margin of his quiz. _More drawing practice tonight?_ Jared blinks a few times and turns to see Jensen staring at him with that mischievous, predatory smirk of his. He nods in agreement and Jensen's smirk splits into a full-on grin, before he's hit in the side of the head with a balled up piece of paper by a very disproving Mr. Morgan. Jared stifles a laugh as Jensen shrugs and continues with his work. Things are looking up.   


End file.
